


i could teach you (but i'd have to charge)

by blackalien



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:36:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6334627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackalien/pseuds/blackalien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a <i>reason</i> Dooku starts his mornings off with four aspirin and a shot of rum.</p><p>( aka: that high school teachers au that literally no one was going to ask for, but needed to be done. featuring: anakin and ahsoka terrorizing the entire school, the clones as secretaries, and obi-wan, who definitely deserves a raise. let's not even talk about dooku. )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> don't take any of this seriously. honestly, this is just a bunch of humor, to balance out the angst that's happening in "gravity."
> 
> ( also, this includes use of modern technology. yes, they are still aliens and things. yes, they're using our technology. sorry if that bothers you. )

Anakin deserves the highest of fives in the _universe_ for not jumping when Ahsoka slams her bag down on the table. “Alright, which one are you banging?”

He stares at her blankly, hoping that he can silently communicate how fucking lost he is without having to say it. Partially because saying it would mean admitting that he isn’t getting laid at _all_ , and she would never let him live it down. But also because— “It’s six o’clock in the morning, and _that’s_ your first question? Have you even had coffee yet?”

“First of all, it’s almost ten,” she corrects. “Second, _please._ I’ve already had four cups of coffee. I’m just waiting on the next pot.”

He gawks at her. “Did you drink it all? Dammit, Snips, you _know_ I can’t function without my coffee—”

“Anakin, you can’t function, _period._ And you still haven’t answered my question.”

One of these days, his deflection will work on her. “What are you even _talking about?_ ”

She looks at him as though it should be obvious. If he were actually screwing anyone, it probably would be, but seeing as he _isn’t._ “Obi-Wan or Padmé. Which one are you screwing?”

“Neither.” And he tries — he _really_ tries — to sound like he isn’t disappointed by that. He’s been pining after the two of them for years. Yes, _pining._ Dramatic sighs and pillow hugging and longing gazes and _all._ It’s even gotten to the point where he’s losing sleep at night, and thinking about them while he listens to cheesy love songs. It’s _bad._

Wait—

“Ahsoka, you _know_ that.”

She takes on a smug look, and, yeah, he really needs a new best friend. “You know why you haven’t managed to bag either of them yet?”

“Because I’m hopeless and no one will ever love me?”

“Okay, tone down the drama by, like, _a thousand_  notches _._ No. You haven’t gotten either of them because you can’t choose which one you want.”

“I want _both_ of them.”

She reaches over and smacks him on the arm. “Stop being greedy, bitch. Pick _one._ ”

He _desperately_ needs a new best friend, because this one is unsympathetic and defective. “Snips, you don’t _understand._ I _can’t._ It’s—it’s impossible to choose. And trust me, I’ve _tried._ Because I’m an exceptional flirt, but even I can’t devote a hundred percent to both of them. But—but _Obi-Wan._ His hair and his hands — I mean, those _hands_.”

“Gross.”

“Don’t fucking tell me you haven’t thought about those hands at least once, Ahsoka, _we have all thought about them._ ”

“…Continue.”

“And his stupid sense of humor and his—his stupid _face._ And then _Padmé._ ”

“Oh, Force, stop,” Ahsoka groans. “If I have to hear the whole ‘angel’ spiel one more time, I’m going to shoot myself. Anyway, you’re an indecisive idiot. Big surprise. I have a way to help.”

Anakin is torn between being offended and being interested. In the end, his interest wins out. It usually does, because Ahsoka is literally always talking shit, and if he let himself get offended by every comment she made, his feelings would be perpetually hurt. “How?”

Ahsoka grins at him, reaching down to pull something out of her bag. It’s a large roll of paper, and he can see a few more sticking out of the bag. Not for the first time, he marvels at just how much she can stuff in that thing. She puts the paper on the table, and unrolls it. He leans over to read it, his eyes taking in the giant, glittery bubble letters. He reads over the words once, twice—

And falls over the table. His entire body quakes from the force of his laughter, and tears spill from his eyes. “Oh, Force,” he wheezes. “I can’t breathe—Snips, I can’t _breathe._ I’m going to _die._ ”

“Don’t do _that,_ ” she commands, pushing him. “Talk about counterproductive.”

“But Snips— _Snips._ ”

Ahsoka stares at him for a few more seconds, before the corners of her mouth start to twitch. She bites down on her lower lip, trying and inevitably failing to keep from laughing.

When Mr. Windu walks into the staff lounge for his sixth cup of coffee, he finds them like that: rocking in their seats, giggling like middle school girls with tears running down their faces. “I don’t get paid enough,” he murmurs before promptly walking back out.

* * *

“Um, Mr. Kenobi?”

“Yes,” he calls distractedly, keeping his eyes on the chalk as he copies the work from his paper onto the board.

“Um—”

Oh, Obi-Wan _knows_ that tone. He’s spent the last eight years dealing with that tone. It wasn’t this bad before Ahsoka came to the school; and it was  _nearly_ this bad before Anakin was assigned to be her teaching mentor. Was it bad? Yes. But Ahsoka made things a _special_ kind of bad. The kind that distracts all of his students and results in extra study groups and emails from irate parents. He considers, briefly, not turning around at all. He could pretend he didn’t hear the student, pretend he doesn’t know how to interpret such open endings. But he’s tried that before. He’s tried pretending not to hear, and pretending that it was nothing big. He even once told the students it was all a mass hallucination. But because his life is horrible, and his two co-workers hate him, _it never works._

So he turns around, and immediately regrets it.

“Ahsoka.”

“ _Mmf._ ”

“Is there a reason you’re lying on my desk this morning?”

Ahsoka lets out a dramatic sigh. She’s spending entirely too much time with Anakin; Obi-Wan should probably put a stop to this. There’s a _reason_ Dooku starts his mornings off with four aspirin and a shot of rum. “Obi-Wan, I’m _tired._ ”

He blinks. “And you’re on _my_ desk because…?”

“It’s closer.”

“To _what?_ ”

“Um,” one of his students interrupts. “Mister Kenobi. You, um—you haven’t been out of your room yet, have you?”

And he— _shouldn’t._ He really shouldn’t, but this lesson is lost before it even began, and he wants to know _why._ So he leaves the teacher-in-training on his desk and steps outside his classroom, glances around, and—

He really should’ve listened to his gut.

Above his door, there’s a large sign. In dark, giant letters, someone — probably Ahsoka — has written **TEAM OBI-WAN** across it, with a hashtag, a URL, and a reminder to _vote now!_ surrounding the bolded words. He momentarily contemplates taking it down, then realizes that there’s no _point._ He knows there are more around the school, because Ahsoka Tano is nothing if not efficient, and it'd just be a waste of energy to take this one down.

He walks back into his classroom, his eyes immediately landing on the Togruta. “Ahsoka.”

She lets out a long groan.

He should probably ask about the sign. He should ask what he’s being nominated for, and why she’s gone through the trouble of making an entire sign. Better yet, isn’t she supposed to be watching Anakin not teach? Obi-Wan should probably be a good teacher, and report her to the principal. Instead, he says, “Read the paper beneath your thigh aloud—yes, that one. And refrain from adding any expletives. There are _children_ around.”

“I _know._ ”

“I’m sure,” he says, patting her head. Lowering his voice, he adds, “So long as you don’t walk into the principal’s office shouting _what’s up, motherfuckers_ , there’s no reason to suspect you’d break the code of conduct, right?”

“ _One time._ ”

* * *

 **(1) NEW TEXTS FROM** _Padmé_

What did you do.

 **(4) OUTGOING TEXTS TO** _Padmé_

That should be a question mark, Padmé, I’m disappointed in you.  
Also, I haven’t done anything.  
I’m offended by that assumption.  
Where is this rudeness coming from?

 **(2) NEW TEXTS FROM** _Padmé_

There are signs up all over school, and it was either you or Ahsoka.  
And we both know Ahsoka isn’t tall enough to do it.

 **(3) OUTGOING TEXTS TO** _Padmé_

Teamwork makes the dream work.  
And I have no idea what you’re talking about, so  
:)

 **(2) NEW TEXTS FROM** _Padmé_

Dooku said to stop starting Twitter wars during class, and stop disrupting everyone else’s lessons with your ridiculous drama.  
I’m pretty sure someone complained.

 **(5) OUTGOING TEXTS TO** _Padmé_

I am honestly feeling so attacked rn.  
And  
Assuming I know what you’re talking about  
This was all Ahsoka’s idea  
She’s trying to help me

 **(3) NEW TEXTS FROM** _Padmé_

So let me get this straight.  
You can’t decide if you want to date me or Obi-Wan.  
So you’re having the students pick for you.

 **(2) OUTGOING TEXTS TO** _Padmé_

Like I said  
Ahsoka’s idea

 **(3) NEW TEXTS FROM** _Padmé_

Oh, Ani.  
You’re making this so much more complicated than it needs to be.

 **(1) OUTGOING TEXTS TO** _Padmé_

????

 **(1) NEW TEXTS FROM** _Padmé_

No one ever said you have to choose.

 **(1) OUTGOING TEXTS TO** _Padmé_

Al;ngldakgnra

 **(1) NEW TEXTS FROM** _Padmé_

;)

* * *

Dooku doesn’t get paid enough.

He doesn’t know how he ended up in this position. When he graduated university, he had plans for his life. Plans to dominate the galaxy, and bring it to back to its natural order. He had no intention of becoming the principal of some overrated high school with the worst staff in history. (Somehow, Yoda is his most reliable teacher. And considering no one ever knows what the old fool is saying, that’s just _horrible._ )

The phone shrieks angrily, and the entire office staff lets out a round of loud groans. Somehow, they all just _know._  The phone stops, then starts up again with a vengeance, and someone starts to cry. Dooku can relate. It’s not even noon yet, and this is the — he checks the chart on the wall — sixtieth call they’ve gotten today. Only nineteen of them have been from parents; the others were all from other teachers. Wait, no, that’s not true. Four of them were from students.

One actually threatened to bomb the school if Anakin wasn’t fired. Dooku invited her in for lunch, but he’s yet to hear back from her. Pity. They were going to discuss what type of bomb she should use.

“Alright,” Cody says, standing up. “Somebody’s going to have to answer that, eventually. Who’s it going to be?”

There’s a long beat of silence before Fives lets out a battle cry of, “ _Nose goes!_ ” As if they’ve been preparing for it their entire lives, the entire office staff slams their index fingers to their noses, looking around accusingly at each other.

Children. He is working with _children._

Rex — who literally _always_ loses — swears loudly. “Why is it always me?” He picks up the phone, and takes on a pleasant voice. “Hello? Ah, Mister Clovis. How can I — oh.”

Dooku contemplates closing his office door, and pretending that he has no idea what’s going on. Or maybe he can just jump out of the window. His office is only on the first floor; he’d survive the fall with minimal injuries. And if he doesn’t—oh, well.

“Mister Dooku, sir.”

Dammit, Anakin.

“What is it, Rex?”

“It seems that, uh, Mister Skywalker is doing it again.”

He puts a hand to his head, rubbing at his throbbing temples. “Doing _what_ again, Rex?”

“ _It_ , sir.”

Force— _why._

 _It_ means bathrobes and armor, and Nerf guns, and angry marches down the halls. _It_ means angry parents, and rebellious teens, and more staff meetings than Dooku wants to attend. (Speaking of, he really needs to buy more stationery. He’s running out of paper to doodle on during Windu’s speeches. The man’s grievances are legitimate, but _Force_ , is he long-winded.)

Throwing subtlety to the wind, Dooku turns on the intercom, not caring that the whole school can hear. “Mister Skywalker, please call off Order 66. Mister Clovis is complaining.”

From somewhere down the hall, Anakin shouts, “ _RUSH CLOVIS DOESN’T HAVE A REAL JOB, ANYWAY._ ”

Only a second later— “ _YOU TALKIN’ SHIT, SKYWALKER?_ ”

Dooku reaches under his desk, and pulls out his handy dandy bottle of rum. He pours one out for Obi-Wan, because he’s going to be the one to solve this, and they all know it. “May the Force be with you, Kenobi,” he mutters, and downs a shot in remembrance of a happy life.

They both deserve a raise.

* * *

Ahsoka doesn’t know why, but whenever she runs into Hera Syndulla, she feels like she’s in trouble. She _is_ in trouble, like, half of the time, but not _always_. Hera just has this way of looking at her like she’s the reason the galaxy is in turmoil.

According to the boys in the office, she very well may be.

Ahsoka fidgets uncomfortably as Hera stares down at her and Sabine. The Twi’lek’s eyes move to the mural painted behind the girls, then back to them. “Wh—”

“It was all Sabine!”

The junior throws Ahsoka a look of utter betrayal and _bitch what_ , and the teacher-in-training winces. She didn’t mean to throw the girl under the bus like that (especially not when it’s going eighty miles an hour; Hera looks _pissed_ ), but it’s every girl for herself now. “It was _not_!”

Hera crosses her arms over her chest, shooting both of them unamused looks. Ahsoka used to think that no one could give a Look like Padmé. Then Hera Syndulla got hired, and Ahsoka has never been so _wrong._ “So whose idea was it?”

“Ezra’s,” Sabine and Ahsoka chorus, once again a united front. When in doubt, _always_ blame Ezra. He’s an easy target, and is almost always actually doing something he shouldn’t be. He’s going to get in trouble for something anyway, they’re just helping out.

Hera looks back to the mural. “Ezra told you two to spray paint _vote Team OT3_ on the wall facing the student parking lot?”

“Yes,” they answer in perfect sync. Hera may not believe their lie, but she’d best believe they’re sticking to it.

“And he told you spray paint _Team Anidala_ on the wall across from Mister Clovis’ door?”

“Uh huh.”

“And _Team Obikin_ on Miss Kryze's door?”

The Togruta and the Mandalorian glance at each other, before shrugging. “The nurse’s office is neutral ground,” Sabine insists.

“Satine is the school nurse,” Hera reminds them. “Meaning it’s _her_ office. Not neutral.”

“Tell Ezra that.”

Hera sighs, the way people only ever do when it comes to Anakin and Ahsoka. If nothing else, Ahsoka knows she’s going to leave an impression on this galaxy. “This is vandalism, ladies. It’s _illegal._ ”

“Only if you get caught,” Ahsoka says.

Hera looks like she’s going to start yelling, and Ahsoka is more than prepared to start running. But Kanan walks up behind Hera, wide and confused eyes on the mural behind them. He glances down at his ward and her friend, then back up to the painting. Sabine opens her mouth to explain, but Kanan cuts her off with a swift, “I don’t want to know.” He moves past them, walking towards the entrance of the school. Ahsoka doesn’t know why he’s here, but she’s almost certain it’s to pick up Ezra. He probably stole something from Mister Kallus again, and actually got caught this time.

She hopes he at least picked up something good.

She turns her attention back to Hera, who has a vein popping out on her forehead. Ahsoka leans over to whisper to Sabine, “If we run in Formation Q, it’ll take her at least an hour to catch both of us.”

“Don’t you dare.” Hera’s voice is steel, and Ahsoka immediately abandons all hope. “We’re going to have a long talk about this. Starting with—”

“Fuck, shit,” Sabine curses. “Ahsoka, _run!_ ”

They both take off running in opposite directions, Hera shouting behind them. Ahsoka just hopes she catches Sabine first. If she’s lucky, Rex will let her hide in his car again. Probably not.

* * *

Padmé takes her job very seriously. Being hired at Coruscant High School was a major accomplishment for her, and she’s proud of herself for it. Even if she is one of the only three faculty members who are actually qualified, and everyone else is a sad joke, she’s proud of herself. Really, she loves her job. It’s just that—

Well—

“I’m not a therapist, Obi-Wan.”

Though she _is_ thinking of referring him to one. He’s the only other person in this school who has to deal with Anakin and Ahsoka’s antics as much as she does. And while she finds ways to relax herself after dealing with them, Obi-Wan typically just goes drinking with Dooku. And she knows from _experience_ that that doesn’t do shit.

“I’m thinking of getting a transfer,” Obi-Wan mutters, theatrically dropping his coat to the floor. She can’t believe he calls Anakin dramatic, when he is physically incapable of disrobing like a normal person. Peacoat forgotten, Obi-Wan walks over to her desk, reaching into the bottom left drawer and pulls out the bottle of whiskey he knows she keeps there. It’s _technically_ against school rules to keep alcohol on campus, but almost every teacher has at least one bottle stashed somewhere, for the moments when Anakin is being Especially Extra, and they just can’t take it anymore.

Padmé is on her fourth bottle this week. (It should be noted that it’s only Wednesday.)

“I love Anakin,” Obi-Wan begins, opening the bottle with expert ease. “Truly, I do. But if Darth Vader makes one more appearance this year, I might just cut his limbs off.”

If Padmé were a better person, she’d probably tell him not to be so dramatic. But… the idea _is_ tempting. Plus, Anakin teaches mechanics, and tests his students on how many ways they can infuriate Clovis. (She should’ve never told him about that time on Scipio. Or Naboo. Or… dammit, why didn’t she just keep her mouth shut?) Really, what would they lose if he suddenly couldn’t come to work?

A moment later, she remembers that she’s supposed to be Obi-Wan’s moral compass when Anakin’s driven him to this point. She really doesn’t want to be, though. He’s not _wrong._ And the school day is already over. Teachers aren’t _supposed_ to be rational after hours. _Still._ “I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news—”

“But you’re going to power through it anyway.”

She does not deserve this. “But he has a point.” She pulls out the shot glasses, one for him and another for her. “Rush Clovis _doesn’t_ have a real job.”

Obi-Wan scoffs, pouring drinks for both of them. “Says the history of intersectional feminism teacher.”

And she’s gearing up to deliver a long, but precise thesis on the subject, and why Togruta oppression and the objectification of Twi'lek women are honest problems in this Force forsaken galaxy, and why everyone needs to be informed, when her door opens. The two stare at the students with wide eyes, neither of them having any idea what they’re supposed to say when they’re caught drinking on school grounds, not fifteen minutes after school let out.

The students don’t even seem bothered by the whiskey, which leads Padmé to believe this isn’t the first time they’ve walked in on such a thing. “We just want you to know,” one of the girls says, “that we voted for both of you.” They all nod fiercely, before the door shuts again, and Obi-Wan and Padmé are left alone.

Silence drags on for only a few seconds, before Obi-Wan lets out a mildly impressed noise. “Smart kids.”

“Very,” Padmé agrees. She lifts her shot glass. “To both of us.”

Something akin to a smirk graces Obi-Wan’s lips, and he clinks his glass against hers. “To hoping Anakin figures it out before we all get fired.”

* * *

Anakin groans into the phone. “It’s a tie. Ahsoka, how the hell is a _three-way tie?_ ”

“ _It’s actually sort of amazing. There aren’t even this many students in the school. Do you think the faculty voted? The parents?_ ”

“Snips, that’s not helping.”

“ _I’m just saying._ ” He can hear her clicking on something, and he wonders how she could possibly prioritize her computer over his issues. “ _I’m almost positive they planned this. There is no way each category got an even 906 votes. That’s not even possible._ ”

“It’s possible,” he corrects, summoning his inner Obi-Wan. “Just not probable.”

“ _Shut up. Anyway, I think it’s a sign._ ”

“That I’m going to die alone?”

“ _Anakin, I swear to the Force, if you don't shut up— Look, the way I see it, you have two choices. Either date both of them like you know you want to, or go to Plan B._ ”

He scoffs. “I think we’re passed Plan B, Snips.”

A pause. “ _True. Okay, Plan M._ ”

“Is this going to result in my happy ending?”

“ _Or an early death. Something distinctly between the two._ ”

He weighs his pros and cons for a moment. He definitely doesn’t want to die. And he’s pretty sure he’s one more student rebellion away from getting fired. Then again, what’s life without taking a few risks? And Dooku definitely won’t fire him. He needs him. Anakin would even go so far as to say the old man is warming up to him. Mind made up, Anakin nods to himself. “Is Plan M the one with the can opener?”

" _No, Skyguy, that's Plan F. Plan M is the one with the firetruck."_

What the f— "Why didn't you say that _first?_  "

He cannot  _wait_ for school tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get even more AU than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao this has been sitting in my drafts for months now, i'm so sorry.

Dooku is starting to get the impression that he’s made a Bad Decision.

Some part of him — read: _all of him_ — knew from the very beginning that putting Anakin Skywalker on the summer camp committee wasn’t going to end well. Previous experience taught him that. ( _No one_ would ever forget the summer of 22 BBY. It was truly a time that would live in infamy. Dooku is _still_ apologizing to Talzin for the confetti thing.) And when the time came for him to select which teachers would be acting as counselors, he ran into a problem.

Out of the one hundred and fourteen teachers he has, only ten signed up to help. Two of them, unfortunately, were the very two he’d been hoping to avoid using. Upon discovering that he literally could not pay any other teachers to take their spots, he was forced to add Anakin and Ahsoka to the roster.

Of course, upon discovering that the two would be going, four other teachers dropped out, and threatened to quit their jobs if Dooku even _tried_ to get them back on board. With most teachers, Dooku wouldn’t give two craps about them quitting, but Tarkin, Yularen, Windu, and Trench make up 98% of the staff’s competency, and if he loses them, his reputation will be _ruined._

With them out, he’s forced to fill the spots with the only four teachers willing to put up with the Skywalker-Tano duo: Koon, Syndulla, Kenobi, and Amidala.

_Naturally._

Dooku momentarily lost his mind, it seems, because he’d actually allowed himself to believe that with the four moderately professional teachers on board, this trip wouldn’t be as much of a disaster. He’d thought that with four Actual Adults, _maybe_ the damage would be minimal this summer.

What a fucking joke.

Another paper airplane crashes into his head, and Dooku suddenly regrets all of his life decisions.

Ahsoka lets out a loud whoop, and shares a high five with Plo. Dooku thought that sitting them together on the bus would keep Ahsoka from doing anything outrageous, but it backfired because, _of course,_ Plo has a soft spot for her.

(Dooku will reluctantly admit to once having a similar bias to the young woman. She’s awfully adorable when she wants to be, and Dooku once thought that if he had a granddaughter, she would be a bit like Ahsoka.

Nine years later, and Dooku sincerely fucking hopes not. He’s _glad_ he never had children.)

“That’s twenty-two points,” Ahsoka declares, spinning around in her seat to stick her tongue out at Anakin and Obi-Wan. “ _Eat it, motherfuckers!_ ”

Dooku wants to remind them that there are actual children on this bus, but then said children applaud her and let out similar taunts, and he has to wonder why he even tries anymore.

“That was _not_ ,” Anakin argues defensively, and while Dooku wants absolutely no part in this, he has it on good authority that it is, in fact, twenty-two points.

“Yes, it is,” Padmé corrects from across the aisle, making a mark on her notepad. Yes, she’s actually keeping count. Dooku has no idea why he thought she would be the mature one, she’s just as bad as Skywalker. “Headshots are five points, remember?”

“Yeah, but she didn’t hit _me._ ”

Rex lets out a contemplative huff, leaning forward in his seat next to Luminara. “She hit the principal; shouldn’t she get more points than that?”

Plo nods, as serious as a heart attack. “Ten points, then.”

Anakin flounders indignantly, and Ahsoka gasps, throwing her arms up victoriously. “Who’s your daddy, _bee-atch?_ ”

Dooku is sitting in front of them, so he can’t see, but he _hears_ the smirk in Obi-Wan’s voice as he says, “Depends on who you ask.”

The bus falls into shocked silence, and Dooku drops his head into his hand. He should’ve never let this relationship progress to this point. Even _Kenobi_ has lost all decorum. It has gone too far.

After a few more seconds, a student finally finds her voice. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Dude,” her classmate says. “Mr. Kenobi is the _coolest._ ”

There is literally no way he’s going to survive _six weeks_ of this.

* * *

“What are you doing?”

Padmé doesn’t look away from her compact mirror, and continues to check her makeup as she answers. “Making sure I look good. Do you think Sabé’s going to be here this year?”

“Uh,” Ahsoka replies. “I don’t know. She usually shows up. Why don’t you just call her and ask?”

Padmé snaps her mirror shut and finally turns to face the younger teacher. “I can’t do that. What if I sound _desperate?_ ”

“Padmé, you couldn’t sound desperate even if you _were_ desperate.”

Obi-Wan hums his agreement, and Padmé’s lips curl into a satisfied smile. Hera takes the mirror from her, and opens it to check her reflection as she asks, “Who’s Sabé?”

“Padmé’s ex-girlfriend,” Anakin provides, plucking the mirror from Hera’s hand. No one even tries to get it from him; it’s a well-known fact that Anakin takes up more time in the mirror than anyone in the whole school. “She works at Naboo Academy.”

“No shit,” Cody laughs, spinning around to insert himself into the conversation. “Don’t you live over there, Miss Amidala? Why didn’t you work there?”

Everyone gapes at him, and he swears he even sees Dooku roll his eyes. Fucking _ouch._ “You can’t just work in the same place as your ex, Cody,” Ahsoka whispers conspiratorially. “Do you know how _bad_ that would be? It adds the _wrong_ kind of drama. And super uncomfortable sexual tension.”

“And this way, Sabé actually had to watch Padmé walk away,” Obi-Wan adds. “Very dramatically.”

There’s a slight pause as Cody tries to get a firm grasp of the situation. “So what you’re saying is, she did it for the aesthetic.”

“ _Obviously._ ”

* * *

As soon as they arrive at the campsite, Dooku sits all of the staff from Coruscant High down like children while the actual children run off. Probably to get high or something, Anakin can’t say he cares too much.

(If he’s being honest, he doesn’t really care about this camping trip at all, but everyone _knows_ this is where the party’s at. And it’s equally common knowledge that the party simply won’t start until he walks in.)

“I have no doubt that you’ll all discard these by the time the night is up,” Dooku starts gravely. He is honestly so damn dramatic, and Anakin has no idea why. They’re not _that bad._ “But for the sake of my job, I have to at least _attempt_ to go over the rules with you all. One: no post-curfew skinny dipping.”

“I’m ready to go home now.”

“Quiet, Skywalker.”

“Rude.”

“Two,” Dooku continues, “no fighting the sand.”

Everyone in the room turns to look at Anakin, and he cannot _believe_ he is being dragged like this. “Okay, that was _one time,_ and a few too many drinks had been passed around.”

Plo scoffs. “I don’t remember a single drink being taken.”

“For real,” Ahsoka agrees, kicking Anakin’s leg. He tries to kick her back, but she pounces and hides behind Obi-Wan. “You were sober as fuck. _And_ you lost.”

Anakin gasps. “I did not!”

Rex pulls out his phone. “Do you want to see the video?”

That vein starts to pop out of Dooku’s head again; Anakin is really just waiting for the day it bursts. “No, Rex, no one wants to see the video. _Moving on._ Number three: _no more parties in the staff lounge._ And I swear, if anyone gives a lap dance, _you are all fired._ What happened last summer _cannot_ happen again.”

Everyone exchanges knowing grins at that. “That was a good night,” Anakin murmurs to Ahsoka, giving her a fist bump as he recalled the raining credits and the cowboy outfit. Padmé, as it turns out, is a very benevolent audience.

“Truly iconic,” Plo agrees. Anakin can’t remember the second part of that night — there was too much alcohol poured after the guns came out — but he remembers enough to know that Plo gets _wild_ when he’s wasted.

Anakin doesn’t care what Dooku says, they _have_ to have an opening party this year. It just wouldn’t be right if they didn’t.

“It was _not_ a good night,” Dooku snaps. “The _Chancellor_ had to come. And he was on the opposite end of the galaxy.”

Anakin is pretty sure he’s not the only one who rolls his eyes at that. “Yeah, right,” he mutters under his breath. “He got here in two minutes. We all know he was just waiting on a call. We’re the highlight of his year, and he _knows it._ ”

“Any other rules,” Padmé — who knows damn well that she won’t listen to a single one of them — inquires in a falsely pleasant voice.

Dooku throws another look to Anakin. “I would say no alcohol on camp grounds, but I can’t promise to follow that rule myself.” He looks back to Padmé. “Just keep it away from the students.”

“Is that all?”

The principal sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have this terrible feeling that I’ve forgotten something, but seeing as you’d break it regardless, I don’t suppose it matters. Just don’t get anyone arrested again.”

Everyone pauses to reflect on _that_ particular summer.

“Yeah,” Hera says after a moment. “That was a bad day.”

It’s been about two years since it happened, and Anakin _still_ has no idea how that went all down. There was no alcohol involved, so he remembers the day vividly, but there’s no reasonable explanation for how making friendship bracelets ended up with the entire staff and half of the students in jail.

Ahsoka squirms impatiently. “Can we go now? Barriss and Riyo are here. I fully intend to have them both drooling over this ass before the weekend.”

“They’ve been drooling over your ass since you were juniors,” Rex chides, poking the young woman in the side. She lets out a squeak, falling into Obi-Wan’s lap. Graciously, the man holds her up so that she doesn’t face-plant in Hera’s crotch. It would hardly be the most embarrassing thing Ahsoka has ever done, but it’s nice of him, nonetheless. “You’re just being a tease.”

Padmé, Ahsoka, and Hera all turn to look at him, giving him matching smiles. They’re all close-lipped, blank, but utterly _horrifying_ smiles that remind Anakin of just how devious and manipulative women can be. “I know,” Ahsoka says.

Dooku lets out a noise that might’ve been a whimper, coming from a lesser man. “Just get out. All of you. I need another drink.”

And because they’re all Responsible Adults™ who don’t need to be told twice, they all scramble to their feet in an effort to get out of the door. “Last one to the pool is a rotten egg,” someone calls out, and — look. Anakin is a lot of things, but he is _not_ a rotten egg.

As it turns out, the _least_ rotten egg of the group is Padmé. Who, by some miracle, appears at the pool _long_ before Anakin — who comes in second place — not even slightly out of breath, _in her bathing suit_ , lounging in a chair like she’s the empress or something.

Padmé might be a dirty rotten cheater, but Anakin is so _glad_ that she’s his.

* * *

“Miss Tano, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Ahsoka has to give Katooni points for being both observant _and_ a total buzzkill. Not many people can do both on Obi-Wan’s level, but the sophomore somehow manages.

Ahsoka shrugs, taking another glance over the edge of the cliff. “It’s probably not.” She grins at the group of students she’s been left in charge of. “Who wants to jump first?”

Petro’s hand shoots straight into the air. “Oh, me! I’m going first!”

The teacher shrugs, stepping away from the ledge. “Knock yourself out.”

“She says that unironically,” Zatt whispers to his best friend. “You really _will_ knock yourself out. You may even die.”

Petro seems to weigh the possibility for a brief second before shrugging. “YOLO, am I right?”

“I’m sure you’ll find out in a second.”

Petro winks at the boy, giving him his towel. “Speak at my funeral?”

“No. Jump.”

Undeterred by the lack of love in what might be his final moments in life, Petro moves a few steps back, then takes a running start, right off the cliff’s edge. The entire group rushes forward to see him plummet. Ahsoka really hopes he doesn’t die; she’s almost positive she’ll be fired if that happens. And, yeah, the whole ‘death of a teenager’ thing would be bad, too. Depending on who you ask.

With a scream ripping through the air, Petro’s body plunges into the water below, and the entire class waits with baited breath for him emerge, dead or alive. Soon, he comes up for air. He lets out a howl of cheer, lifting his arms over his head.

As if some spell has been lifted, the other students take running starts to follow his lead. The air is filled with shrieks as they all jump off, and Ahsoka is vaguely aware that with so many students jumping off of the same cliff all at one time, the possibility of death is a lot greater. She silently dares the Force to try to kill one of the kids, then quickly backtracks. She has learned a lot since meeting Anakin her freshman year, but if there’s one thing she’ll never forget, it’s that daring a power greater than oneself to do anything will result in absolute failure, _at least_ half of the time.

It occurs to her now, in this moment, that Katooni was probably right and this _might_ just end in a lot of blood and tears. How would she talk her way out of that mess?

“Welp,” she decides, lifting her shirt over her head. “Can’t get in trouble if I’m dead, too.” In a bikini and shorts ( _probably_ against the dress code, but Padmé insisted she bring it, and no one in their right mind is going to try to fight Padmé Amidala), she backs up a few steps and leaps off of the cliff’s edge, a scream ripping its way from her throat.

* * *

Plo has the misfortune (or, as some unreliable sources would argue, abundant fortune) of being paired with Anakin Skywalker for this activity. He doesn’t really understand why he needs a partner at all, considering his group is just playing volleyball for the next few hours. There are enough kids in his group that they don’t necessarily _need_ to add Anakin’s.

But, considering they’re already tap dancing on Dooku’s last nerve, Plo won’t complain.

At least, that was his mindset going into this. Now, he isn’t so sure.

Anakin sprints up to net, much faster than anyone his age has any right to be, crouches down and springs back up, spiking the ball down in an empty space. He only _just_ avoids hitting one of the students in the face. The poor kid starts _crying_ , he’s so afraid, but Anakin doesn’t seem the least bit concerned. He just lets out a loud cheer, high fives his teammates and leads them in a victory dance.

Plo would like to note that Anakin isn’t even supposed to be _playing._ But considering he’s part of the Skywalker-Tano duo and specializes in driving people to alcoholism (and homicide, in a few notable cases), pointing this out would be as effective as telling a corpse to start dancing.

He turns around, fully intent on pretending he doesn’t see Skywalker more or less harassing the students, and catches the eye of a less than impressed teenager. Arms folded over her chest, he cuts a glance towards Anakin, then turns it back to Plo. As irritated as the kid is — he's one of the Fetts, Plo thinks, Bubba or something — he almost looks desperate. It’s not unusual, these days. “Can you do something about him,” the boy sneers, red in the face. Plo has the sneaking suspicion that he’s more upset by the fact that Anakin’s team is winning than the cringe-worthy dancing happening on the other side of the net.

If there’s one thing Plo regrets about all of this, it’s signing on to be the Responsible Adult. No, neither Anakin nor Ahsoka can be trusted to fill that role, and Padmé and Obi-Wan are barely any better, but he hates doing it. Controlling these rapscallions is the hardest thing he’s ever been assigned to do, and considering all that he’s had to do in his fifty-plus years of life, that’s truly saying something. While he’s _willing_ to keep them in line, he wishes he didn’t have to. Anakin is a _grown man_ , Plo shouldn’t _have_ to reprimand him every time they go out.

Not two seconds after he thinks that, he remembers that Anakin is a _poor excuse_ for a grown man, and someone has to watch his back. That duty used to fall to Obi-Wan, until everyone realized that it wasn’t really his _back_ the man was watching. (That particular point leads into an entirely different world of complications, awkward situations, and outstanding bets. He doesn’t want to go there.)

Regardless.

Plo stifles a long suffering sigh, looking over to where Anakin is now starting the wave. It’s actually painful to look at. “Mr. Skywalker,” he calls, thankfully drawing enough attention to make Anakin stop dancing. “Perhaps you’re being a bit too… _serious?_ ”

Anakin stares for a moment before smiling innocently. “No idea what you mean, sir.” Behind his back, several students snicker and exchange high fives. Anakin — being the actual teenager that he is — looks entirely too smug.

For the sake of his own sanity, Plo takes a look at his watch and starts counting the minutes until the start of the summer party tonight. He _desperately_ needs a few drinks.

* * *

“I can’t _believe_ she’s not here.”

“No?” Dooku doesn’t even have the decency to look at her as he responds disinterestedly. “I can.”

Padmé throws him a dirty look, her grip tightening around the knife in her hand. She contemplates rushing at him with it, but he would probably dodge it without even trying. Or let her do it; he doesn’t seem all that worried about living through this experience, anyway. If past summers are anything to go by, he’s most likely hoping _not_ to survive.

And just for that, she’s going to make sure he does.

She goes back to chopping. The two of them, along with a few other teachers — Anakin and Ahsoka having been explicitly uninvited — are having an early dinner before the party that they _technically_ aren’t supposed to be throwing. That starts a mess of _but the kids_ and _bad influences_ and _someone died that one time_ that no one is too keen on getting into, so no one mentions it, and Dooku pretends he doesn’t know it’s going to happen. According to the contract that doesn’t officially exist, he’s allowed to partake in the party and drink to his heart’s content, but can only talk to the cops about it if someone else dies or goes to jail.

Yan Dooku has many faults, but he hates them all enough that being a snitch isn’t one of them.

“She was supposed to show up,” Padmé continues. “She would see me with Ani, looking better than I ever did when we were together, and she would realize what she’s missing out on.”

“At the risk of you thinking I care,” Dooku drawls, eyes locked on his holographic tablet, “but I do recall you breaking up with _her_ , Miss Amidala. Wouldn’t that make _you_ the one missing out?”

Padmé stops, placing her knife down to stare at him. “I can’t believe you just said that. I know we aren’t exactly friends, but I thought you were better than that.”

“Your mistake.”

* * *

  **(1) NEW TEXTS FROM** _Ana-kin_

GUESS WHAT TIME IT IS

 **(2) NEW TEXTS FROM** _Our Padawan *heart emoji*_

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
TIME TO CAUSE SOME TROUBLE, BITCHES

 **(1) OUTGOING TEXTS TO CHAT** _the best there ever was_

And this is different from what you do every other day… how?

 **(1) NEW TEXTS FROM** _Ana-kin_

y r u like this

 **(2) NEW TEXTS FROM** _Our Padawan *heart emoji*_

who hurt u

 **(1) OUTGOING TEXTS TO CHAT** _the best there ever was_

Reading your texts hurts me.

 **(2) NEW TEXTS FROM** _The Queen of Everything_

Yikes™  
Anakin, did you change the fucking chat name again

 **(2) NEW TEXTS FROM** _Ana-kin_

…………….  
THAT’S RIGHT, FOLKS, IT’S PARTY TIME

 **(1) NEW TEXTS FROM** _Captain Done with Your Shit aka Rex_

oh for fucks sake

 **(4) NEW TEXTS FROM** _The Queen of Everything_

Anakin Skywalker, this is the LAST TIME, no one can keep up with this.  
And the party doesn’t even start for another hour.  
Why are you screaming via text.  
Why are you like this.

 **(1) NEW TEXTS FROM** _Ana-kin_

do you want the extended version, because it started with me, ahsoka, and a movie...

 **(1) OUTGOING TEXTS TO CHAT** _the best there ever was_

Literally: do not.

 **(1) NEW TEXTS FROM** _Ana-kin_

fuck u i got an hour to waste and a captive audience

 **(1) NEW TEXTS FROM** _My Husband, Cody_

anakin, i am literally BEGGING YOU do not

 **(2) NEW TEXTS FROM** _Ana-kin_

………………………yeah, no, i’m gonna  
but first, alcohol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, fam! and thank you so much for all of the feedback! i didn't expect anyone to really like this story. but you guys did, and you wanted a sequel, so i'm making this into three parts. the next part will be posted.... at some point, probably. thank you again, and please leave a comment if you can! and as always, feel free to hmu on tumblr @ andrwminycrds. have a good one, you guys!
> 
> next chapter: the party & after the party
> 
> also, for your viewing pleasure: [anakin and padme](https://youtu.be/lw0MLuEoGaI)

**Author's Note:**

> i saw this post on tumblr that was like "bring me high school teacher aus" and it... this just happened? whoops? like, i honestly cannot see any of these losers teaching at a functional school. especially human disaster anakin skywalker.
> 
> thanks for reading, folks!


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